Erik shifted next to Magnus. The challenge in Samar’s voice didn’t bode well. The Ebronian hadn’t yet recovered his pride from being tackled the week prior. Magnus didn’t know why the puffed-up man should hold it against him. The result had been Nadine sticking to him like moss on a hot spring rock while she spared Magnus hardly a grunt in response to anything he said or did.
Magnus gestured toward the hat in Samar’s hand. “Wrong color.”
A rumble of laughter went around the company, and Samar’s teeth showed as his lips curled into a smile. “We’re trained in stealth, savage. But surely even you can understand that your mountaintop is covered in snow. Snow is white.”
And your blood will stain the snow red.
Erik extended a placating palm toward Samar. “Those caps appear like many of the prey on the mountain. Foxes. Hares. So many of them moving across the snow might attract predators. You’ll need to leave them behind.”
Samar rolled his eyes. “Like what? A pack of wolves? There are over a hundred of us, not including you lot and your mounts.”
Magnus glanced at the few gegatu flying overhead. His clansmen provided aerial support and ensured no large forces could move toward the Ebronians without warning. They’d already slaughtered three packs of enthralled veligiri since leaving the desert for their lost homeland. He looked back at Samar and resisted the urge to smirk. “How about a pack of dire wolves?”
The Ebronians whispered amongst one another and shifted irritably. As large as horses and violent as any veligiri, a pack of dire wolves was something even Magnus wouldn’t want to face from anywhere but the sky, upon Yrsa’s back. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Your stupid hats stay. You’ll be begging us for our clothes before it’s over, anyway.”
Samar narrowed his eyes. “Don’t count on it.”
Erik cleared his throat and shifted his body slightly in front of Magnus, pointedly cutting him out of the conversation. “It would be far easier if you allowed us to fly your men to the Throat.”
“And about a hundred times faster,” Magnus muttered. But apparently the Ebronians preferred to hike and vomit their way up the mountain.
Samar tilted his head at Erik. “We’ve discussed this, sky-rider. Many times.”
“What if we swear not to put our claiming marks on you and your men?” Magnus asked.
Erik shot Magnus a look that promised pain if he didn’t shut his mouth and keep it sealed. Magnus shrugged and shook his head with a, What did I say? expression.
It wasn’t as if antagonizing the Ebronians on this issue was going to change anything. If it would, Magnus would have kissed their scrawny asses the entire flight up the peak. But they’d long since set their minds against all reason, convinced the Dokiri would somehow betray them once they had them in the air. Fools. Up here they were already at his clan’s mercy. He blew out a loud breath. They didn’t have time for this. Magnus’s skin went tight across his chest as he thought of the reason he was here.
Arvid doesn’t have time for this.
“Captain.” Rushil, Samar’s right hand, stepped out of the crowd toward his commanding officer. “About the watch. We can’t really mean to keep still while we stand guard.”
Magnus rolled his eyes. “I’m willing to tie you down if that’s what it takes. But don’t tell my bride. I sense she’s the jealous type.”
Rushil stared at Magnus as though he were an insect chirping from the ground—an odd thing as he had to look up to do so. The lieutenant turned his attention back to Samar. “These barbarians are confused. They seem to think they’re in command.”
“Funny,” Magnus said, turning his head to Samar. “I was just thinking the same thing. Where is your commanding officer, Captain?”
Magnus knew exactly where she was. He always knew. She’d taken off as she did every evening to scout the surrounding area. What fascinated Magnus was that she didn’t just track the path ahead, but also that behind, checking for pursuers who might be following their trail. At least she was smart enough to take someone with her, else Magnus would have missed this meeting Samar had been perfectly content to assemble. Without Nadine’s presence.
“Captain Pajel’s whereabouts are of no concern to you, savage.”
Magnus smiled and lowered his voice. “I’ll enjoy watching my bride cow you when she returns.”
Samar turned away, a clumsy attempt at hiding the heat that flushed his face whenever Magnus said the word bride. Magnus swallowed back a chuckle. He’d already claimed Nadine before the men when he’d fought Samar. No point in keeping quiet about it. Or at least, not when Nadine wasn’t around to stare daggers into his flesh. Then again, the attention was almost worth it.
“I think we’ve all heard enough,” Rushil said.
Magnus scoffed. “Not hardly. My brother’s trying to keep you lot alive with his rules because there’s too much to teach you about the veligiri. We spend our lives learning how to best them, or else we die before earning an idadi we can be proud of.”
The young lieutenant looked unimpressed. He raised his arms to disperse the meeting. No one made a move to put aside the ridiculous hats.
Magnus and Erik exchanged looks, then Magnus took a step forward. “You think taking direction from people you dislike is difficult. I empathize. But I suggest you overcome it, because you’re really not going to like being led by the Nozverak.” Magnus pinned Rushil with a hard gaze. “Keep that in mind, Ebronian.”
Sullen unease filled the camp at the mention of the Nozverak. The tension between the Ebronians and the Dokiri paled compared to what was likely coming when this became a mission of three factions. Good thing Erik was here. He had established a strong camaraderie with Azolirum, the horde king of the under-men, and was naturally diplomatic besides. It was the reason he was traveling on foot with the Ebronians now.
As chieftain, Hollen had remained in Ebron, maintaining the alliance between their peoples. So were Ivan and his wife, Lavinia, who, though she’d been disgraced in Ebronian court for choosing the Dokiri people, still held some influence as blood kin of the Mushar’s family. Sigvard had offered to come along, but Hollen had asked him to stay due to his special connection with the Mushar. In the meantime, he was training with the finest arms master in Ebron—a gift from the Mushar for saving his life.
Twenty-some bonded and thirty-some unbonded Na Dokiri traveled with the Ebronians now. The riders had been supplied across four of the six clans which had allied with Ebron. Feeding so many men would have been difficult, but riders were flying in provisions every couple of days, which made their burden light and travel fast. Magnus estimated they would reach Bedmeg within another ten days, seven if they faced no serious delays. From there they’d meet with the Nozverak before moving into the Throat.
Nadine approached the camp, which had already dispersed and begun setting up their tents for the night. The man she’d taken along split off and set to work on the tents. Nadine’s eyes scanned over him and Erik with obvious suspicion before they skittered over to Samar. She marched toward her second. What explanation would the Ebronian man give for calling the meeting while she’d been absent? Magnus huffed before making his way out of the camp. He made sure to get a good distance away from where Erik would settle in with Aster for the night, so their wyverns wouldn’t start bickering.